simple, stripped down (not like that)
by Younger Dr. Grey
Summary: or, the post-finale moment where Remy lets his appreciation known and reminds Charley that what he wants and needs should be taken into account as well. Charley/Remy


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Remy settles up against the door of his car again. His shirt's thrown over the side mirror, but he keeps his arms and hands free as Charley slips closer to him. Music spills over from the High Yellow with an easy sort of bass that keeps the drinks flowing and the hips moving. But there's only so much of a night out that a diner can offer them, even if the bar's nearly always open for Charley.

Besides, tonight wasn't meant to be a date, just a check in between two people who haven't spoken much since one person made some rather large decisions without listening to anyone else. A few drinks and a chat across a table that seemed far too wide later, and they're back outside, standing by his car like it's the night after the hurricane all over again.

He says, "You know, the night of the storm, when you came back out and we..." His little smirk covers whichever way he'd like to phrase their first kiss, "I think that's the only time I've seen your hair like that."

"Like that?" Charley repeats it mostly because she can't actually remember what her hair looked like that night. She remembers sliding her wedding band and engagement ring into a sock. She remembers the glow of the lantern bouncing off the accents in Vi's house, remembers pulling that lantern a little tighter when she went past where everyone else was sleeping to get over to the chair. Most of all, she remembers him — his slouched shoulders and tightly pulled frame in that nest of a space he'd hidden away in. Not uncomfortable necessarily but a bit out of place, like her. He'd stayed at Vi's because she wanted him to. He'd stayed because whatever they were doing wasn't just farming her daddy's land together. And he'd flickered with the light, stirring so he could find her where she watched him in the doorway. He'd started to speak, but the words never came. Probably for the best. She wouldn't have known what to say back. She honestly hadn't had much to say that night, much to do or more circling in her mind other than a need to see his face and feel… whatever it was he kept making her feel. A little less like one of the trees being uprooted outside, more like the full-bellied cackles over red wine and a broken-in deck of playing cards. And he hadn't needed a request to let her in, hadn't taken more than a few seconds of seeing her to know what she needed. Then the lantern went above and behind them, and she slid into his arms, and her head nestled in the space between his and his shoulder. He'd kneaded at the muscles of her bicep, brushed his thumb against bare skin, and a breath, a stretch, led into them meeting for the first time. No fanfare, no debate, nothing more than a voice in her head telling her, it's okay. Your soul can handle it.

The minutes spent in his arms faded too quickly, the world slipping away as her body warmed and melted into him. She only woke up when her bladder started screaming, and once she left him, she couldn't exactly justify going back. The sun was rising, and the storm was over. She had a son upstairs still reeling from the changes in his life, and she knew she wasn't over them herself. As good as it was, as much like kissing him felt like coming home down south, she'd headed back upstairs, and that's what Charley remembered.

"Just…" Remy seeks out the word and lands on "simple. You had it down, no bumps or bands or braids in sight. It was like seeing you stripped down." As her eyebrows skyrocket and her lips part around some kind of something, he says, "You heard me. Stripped down to the basics. No production, or preparation. It was just you. And I appreciated it."

She doesn't quite know what to do with that. Has never been completely prepared to handle the quiet way he watches her for signs of how she's taking something. He's a professor, studying's what he does. When they're together, sometimes it's like she's his new favorite subject, like he's planning a whole lecture around the way her smile takes up half her face and he's seeking out further examples of how and why and how often that can happen in the span of ten minutes. Now don't get her wrong, she's been trained to study people, and if she needed to work through some talking points on Remy Newell, she'd have plenty. But she doesn't want to talk about him. She wants to be with him.

"You know," and here she glides with the drawl of her words, swoops into his bubble in the way she hadn't the last time they stood like this, "there are other ways to see me like that."

His shake of the head's barely there, but he does it before linking eyes back with her. "Like what?" he asks.

Her big smile comes in, and she might be a little too forward tonight. Might need to tone it back down. But hey, they're grown, and it's been a long time. She never did get too far with that last apology either.

"Just simple." Her arms snake around his neck. His find their home around her hips. She leans in to peck the right corner of his mouth. Then the left. Then, right before hitting center, she says, "Stripped down."

He beats her to the kiss. Not that she minds. He'll learn soon enough that she likes to take her time.

When they break away, he says, "This wasn't a date." She kisses his jaw. "I'm really not that easy." His neck. "But since you're begging —" she smiles against his skin, "— I can make an exception. Come on, get in the car."

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Remy's pretty easy. Putty below her, only not quite that soft. She's got her hair down since he seems to like that. ("This way, I can't mess up the style." As if she doesn't know how to fix it back. "Show me, and I'll mess it up as much as you'd like me to.") But, as much as he has to enjoy this moment, with her on his lap and his fingers hot against her skin, Remy pulls back. First from her lips, and she chases after him as he starts saying her name. ("Charley. Char? Char.") Then his hands slide back on down to her hips, though they stay under the shirt at least.

She can't help the groan that leaves her. She also can't help the smile that replaces it the moment he twitches a bit under her. But she opens her eyes to see a building resolve shining up through his.

He says her name again. "Charley, we have to stop."

"Pretty sure we don't have to do anything," she tells him. "We're grown."

He tweaks the skin of her hips. "Don't be petty." Then smoothes the tingling spot with his thumb. "I'm serious. I want to do this right."

She scratches along the base of his neck. "Tell me what isn't right about this."

"Nothing's wrong. But—" he ducks away from her touch as much as he can, gives her his serious eyes like when he'd said not to let anyone steal her joy, "I want to take you out. I want you to be ready for this."

She bites down on the urge to tell him exactly how ready she is. How much she needs this. "What makes you think I'm not ready?"

He sighs. "Not an attack, but you still have a lot you need to settle when it comes to Davis. And believe me, Charley, baby, it would be an honor and a pleasure to be used by you, but I want more than that. If I'm being honest, I'd like this to last. I'd like to be a bit more sure that this isn't just seeking a good out from everything with your ex."

What even constitutes a good out? She's not running to Remy to get away from everything with Davis. Her journey with Remy runs parallel to the end of her marriage. He's not a replacement. He's his own arc in her life. But, she could see where he might think that she still needs work. It's not a far leap. But it's not like doing everything right will suddenly mean that this won't go wrong. She did everything right with Davis. The long courtship, the waiting, the young marriage and unwavering support through to fulfilling each of their dreams, and it still fell apart right around her. She still lost almost everything. God she has so much stuff in LA that she can't even begin to transport over here. She could probably get some movers to bring her all of her stuff, but where would she even put it? She filled that house and until she gets one here — ugh, getting one here means finding a good location that's not far from the farm or from her new mill. Micah should like it. It'd be nice if it actually could shorten the distance to Gardini, even though he can stay with Nova every so often. Staying with Nova would help since they wouldn't need a driver and she'll need to oversee construction and renovations. But —

She groans again. Sinks down with the weight of everything she needs to work on and rests her forehead against Remy's. "It's nice to forget how much I still have to do."

"I'm sure it is. But I don't want this to wind up being an escape. So far, the way I see it, we've been kind of like partners."

She nods. "Since the beginning. You kept us from the Landrys, charmed your way into getting me at that meeting." They laugh together at that. "You deserve more than what I'm giving you."

He clicks his tongue. "That's not what I said."

"Isn't it?" He wants all of her, and she's got to figure out how to give him all of that. Not just a passing flirtation that's feeling more and more a part of her. She needs to be able to give him as much of herself as he's offering up.

"All I want is to take you out and remind us both of what it's like for this to be real."

Real didn't work out so well for Nova and Calvin. Then again, Nova and Calvin came out of an affair that really shouldn't have happened and probably won't work out in the first place. This thing here, with Charley and Remy, it's not some secret. It's… good, freeing, simple. And if they want it to stay that way, then they need to treat it well. So far, it's been a mostly one-sided show of support, a lot of being there for Charley and her family and her needs, and now Remy's got a need of his own. It's not just someone taking a chance on his seed cane, but on actually having something with him. If that's what he wants, then she can do it. She can wait, maybe not long, but she can.

"Okay." She moves her arms to the couch to push up off of him, but he catches her hips before she gets up too high. Her brows tweak up with her smile. "Oh I'm not moving?"

He shakes his head. "Stay a little longer. I really like this view."

She stares down at his bright smile and honest eyes, his flushed lips and endless lashes. She brings her hands back to his neck. Loses her fingers in the tiny hairs at the base. "Me too."

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End file.
